Dear Kobe and Phil,

Congratulations on the reunion! Is it for real Man, we never thought we'd see the day. Hell, we thought Nirvana would get back together before you two did. Kobe and Phil in Lakerland 2.0 We'd have been less surprised by a Dukes of Hazzard sequel, ski jumping in Guatemala, CSI Tuscaloosa, sixpack abs on Tobey Maguire, or a magazine called Men's Vogue.

After all, you guys were supposed to haaate each other. Phil, did you ever read that book that detailed Kobe's "narcissistic tendencies" Oh, wait You wrote that book! And Kobe, your favorite coach has always been Kobe. If you could, you'd start a team of five Kobes, do the playbyplay on TV, sing the national anthem, and replace the Laker Girls with Kobes. Which raises the question Can one hit on oneself

But now you two are making niceynice and saying you can bring the Lakers back to the NBA elite. That's impressive. Last year Showtime was D'ohtime. You couldn't beat the Suns. You couldn't beat the Spurs. You probably couldn't have beaten the Strokes. Ron Artest could have beaten you with one hand tied behind his back. And then beaten all your fans, too.

So it's going to be hard, guys. Phil, you're going to have to be patient. Kobe, you're going to have to be unselfish. We're laughing even as we type that. But here's how it can work.

1. Take it slow.

Treat your relationship like a wounded bird. Book a weekend getaway at the Santa Fe Sensual Massage Workshop or enroll in a makeyourown pottery class. Have a fondue night. Phil, say something nice to Kobe, like "Great dunk." Kobe, say something nice to Phil, like "Every second I sit on this bench, it costs 45,000."

2. Drop the Zen act, Phil.

Stop urging your players to write poetry and read introspective books. You're not teaching Advanced Peyote at UC Santa Cruz. These guys are not going to read Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet. They can barely get through the manual to Grand Theft Auto.

You need the big fella. But don't try to lure him home with promises of cash and championship rings. Just set up a grill behind the bench and put him in charge. He'll be there tomorrow.

5. Shoot a remake of Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

Apparently, it makes people hot for each other.

6. If all else fails, call Rodman.

Okay, he's 44, out of shape, and probably feeling no pain as we speak, but the Worm could still probably run out on the court in a pink thong and heels and grab twentytwo rebounds a night. So give him a call. Right now he's signing breasts at a midget wetTshirt contest in Reno.

Good luck, you two.

Don't make us come after you with Dr. Phil.

Sincerely,

GQ

P.S. If you guys figure out a way to make this work, they need you in Gaza. And on the set of Desperate Housewives.

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